A Curious Turn
by Bryony
Summary: Trowa has arrived to join Preventers, but it seems his reasons for leaving the circus have decided to follow him. A 3x9 hookup story, with some plot. Yes, you did read that right! 3x9.


**A Curious Turn**

by Bryony

"Well, look at you! All grown up."

That was the first thing she said on his arrival. Noin. It didn't immediately endear her to him: Trowa raised his eyebrows and hoped she'd get the message. "You're my ride?"

"You don't have to make it sound so menial," she huffed, a hand going to her hip in mock offense, although good humor sparked in her eyes. "You're a VIP, after all; it's not every day we get a…pilot of your caliber joining Preventers. Good to see you again, by the way."

Trowa pulled another face. _VIP_ , right. Another term he didn't like. But at least she'd managed to avoid calling him a Gundam pilot out here in the open, he could be grateful for that.

Noin offered a smile and clapped him on the shoulder, then began to lead the way out of the arrivals lounge towards where she'd parked. "I'm sure Wufei would have wanted to be here himself," she told him as they walked, "but he and Sally are on a mission, out near Nairobi. They're not due back for another couple of weeks yet." Noin didn't share any details of the mission, and Trowa hardly thought it prudent to ask.

He looked around instead, continuing the subtle surveillance he'd been attempting since leaving the circus. Before then. But not for much longer. He had to keep telling himself that, that this would be worth it. He squinted through the glare as they stepped out into the parking lot. It was sweltering, between the sun beating down on them and heat radiating up from the black tar. The skin of his back prickled uncomfortably beneath his shirt, and he adjusted his duffel in an effort to soothe it. To Noin, he said, "Last I heard, you were still out on Mars."

She let out a flat, humorless laugh. Obviously a story there, then. "Yes. We got back last month."

They reached the car, an unmarked, inconspicuous looking sedan. Noin solicitously took his bag from him to put it in the boot. He thought for a horrified instant she was going to run round and open his door for him, too, like he really was some damn VIP, and was absurdly relieved when she merely disengaged the remote lock.

"I hope you're not too restless," she said as she slipped behind the wheel, "it's a long drive out to headquarters."

"I'll manage."

A minute later, once they were finally free from the parking validation exit queue and pulling out onto the open highway, she added conversationally, "How was the flight?"

He muttered something neutral, glancing into the sideview mirror. It was adjusted for Noin's use; rather than affording him a view of the road behind them, all he could see was his own reflection. He snuck a backward glance under the pretense of fussing with his seatbelt instead.

Picking up on his distraction, Noin glanced over and told him, "If you just want to sleep for a while, that's fine. I won't be offended."

Sleep - that was about the last thing on his mind. "It's not you," he said by way of apology, forcing himself to meet her eye and offer a placating half-smile.

"Thinking about the new job?" She sounded sympathetic. "It's a big change from the circus, huh? I think you made the right choice in not joining up straight away. It's good you gave yourself the chance to see what the rest of the world had to offer first. Not that I'm not glad to see you with us, now, mind."

The words made him acutely uncomfortable, throwing into stark relief his reasons for joining Preventers after all these years. He looked away again, out the window, noticing with some surprise as he did so, the way his leg had begun to jiggle up and down without his conscious permission. He willed it back into stillness.

He felt, more than saw, the weight of Noin's gaze. "Trowa, what's wrong? Really. Come on, you can tell me. I don't bite. Are you having second thoughts?"

He sighed and passed a hand over his face, wondering whether to dissemble or come clean. "It's-"

Breaking glass.

The _crack!_ of a hole appearing in their rear windshield.

The impact of a bullet against his headrest, millimeters from his face.

The spike of adrenaline, given sudden permission to flow free.

"Jesus Christ!" Noin swore, swerving the car slightly in her surprise. Trowa wished, suddenly, fervently, that he was the one behind the wheel. "Radio HQ," she barked, "tell them to get some backup out here!"

He did as instructed. Beside him, Noin muttered something to herself about civilian traffic in the area and punched the accelerator. The shot had come from the car directly behind them. In addition, there were, at a glance, six other vehicles in their immediate vicinity over three lanes; that was discounting oncoming traffic, which was separated from them by a raised cement barrier down the median. It was unclear to Trowa whether anyone else had noted the shooting or their sudden danger. "Call in the plates, too," Noin added to him, reciting the same series of letters and numbers he'd observed earlier.

Another gunshot. He heard the impact more than the shot. This one found the metal surround of the rear window and bounced harmlessly away. Their opponent wouldn't be winning any prizes for marksmanship, Trowa thought dryly. He twisted in his seat, risked a glance behind, saw the glint of metal peeking from the passenger side window of the car behind them. They were dropping behind with Noin's sudden burst of speed, but then began to creep closer again. A third shot; he saw the flash, heard the crack of sound a millisecond later. He flinched immediately back behind the meager protection of his seat, but this one didn't even hit their car. "They're losing it," he noted to Noin. A result of stepping out into the open? Either way, it would make them easier to take down, but simultaneously more of a danger to the civilians around them. Desperation had a way of doing that. Case in point, he glanced to the side and caught the eye of the driver next to them, his mouth agape and his eyes frightened. A woman in the seat next to him had her phone out and pressed to her ear while she tried to shrink down as small as possible. The civilians had begun to pick up on what was unfolding around them.

' _Pull over_ ,' Trowa mouthed at them, attempting to radiate calm and pointing towards the shoulder. If they got out of the way, they would be safe.

"I'm going to get us off the highway," Noin announced, apparently reaching the same conclusion he had. "Hang tight."

She sped up again, marking their pursuit in the rearview mirror. The civilian car to their right dropped behind them and then Noin swerved purposefully into the vacant lane, making for the next upcoming exit. A horn blared behind them as the pursuing car stayed on them, narrowly avoiding a collision with the civilians Trowa had tried to direct to safety. He had to trust they'd be all right, there was no way of going back to check on them. It was always better for people to take care of themselves, anyway.

The radio crackled in Trowa's hand, relaying the information that local law enforcement were en route to assist and the license plates had been registered as belonging to 68-year-old Frederika Stoltz. The car had not been reported as stolen, but it was plainly not some little old woman behind the wheel. Trowa could easily imagine a car being chosen at random from the airport parking lot…an old woman returning from her holiday in a week's time, or following the same path he'd taken earlier that afternoon, perhaps picking up a son or daughter from the arrivals terminal, walking out to find the vehicle missing. Perhaps she would think she was going senile, that it was her own fault she couldn't find where she'd parked, no matter how long she looked.

"Have you got your sidearm on you?"

"Yeah," he affirmed, drawing the gun from his shoulder holster. He hadn't expected exactly this when he'd stopped in the bathroom between collecting his checked baggage and heading to the arrivals lounge, there loading and holstering his weapon. But he had expected something. Had known a confrontation was inevitable.

"Leave it for now." Noin's voice was terse, thick with tension. "Last resort. Let's see if we can't manage to take back control of the situation… It's not often I find myself on _this_ end of a car chase. Think I prefer it the other way around if I'm honest."

"We still have both the tactical and psychological advantage," Trowa reminded her. Although there was a chance their pursuers could have backup on the way, Trowa doubted it; certainly they wouldn't have the level of resource Preventer and law enforcement had at their disposal. Everything he'd observed so far told him these guys were small fry. All he and Noin had to do to come out on top, was wait it out and try to minimize collateral damage. Even so, Noin gave a derisive sniff.

She took the exit at speed, at the same time flicking on the car's lights and siren. T-junction coming up. She didn't stop, barely slowed, expertly maneuvering through the skid as they turned. Trowa risked another momentary backward look.

"They've fallen back a bit," he reported. "I think the sirens have them worried; they didn't realize this was a Preventer car."

"What the hell _did_ they think?" Noin exclaimed. Then, grimly, "Here we go…"

Here, they no longer had to contend with other cars. She swung them into a handbrake turn; a tight one-eighty squeal of tires that brought them face-to-face with their pursuit. Ahead of them, the other car was hesitating at the junction.

No further shots fired. Yet.

In many ways, this was the moment of truth. Would the attackers decide to shoot again? He was an easier target, now. But now they knew he had a Preventer escort. So what was more important to them? His death? Or a clean escape? Trowa squinted, trying to see the faces of the people he knew would be looking back at him.

In the distance, through the cover of trees, he could see flashing lights. Their backup. They'd be arriving shortly. That seemed to decide the occupants of the other car: they took off in the opposite direction.

Noin was having none of it. Scoffing, she gunned their engine. Fifteen seconds later, they'd pulled alongside. Turning sharply into the fleeing vehicle, she struck it behind the rear driver's side wheel, then dropped back as the other car flew into a spin that had them skittering wildly across the road. The driver tried first to accelerate out of it, then brake. The increasingly desperate maneuverings ended only when they'd landed in the ditch which ran alongside the road, the car rocking to a sudden standstill.

"Come on," Noin said to him. She left the Preventer vehicle in the middle of the road, lights flashing; they exited with guns raised and ready. Trowa could hear the wail of sirens growing louder by the second. Noin was planning the sensible approach, remaining behind her opened door, shouting at the occupants of the other car to come out with their hands up. By the book. That was her job.

Not him. Not yet. Adrenaline urged him forward.

He left the safety of the car behind, stalked across the street with the smooth gait of a panther preparing to strike. Noin yelled for him to get back, but he ignored her; he had his sights set exactly where he intended to go.

He could see panicked faces through the windscreen. Two of them. Men. Spineless cowards, both.

He stood still a moment, let them see his face, observed their fear.

You followed me here, he thought with satisfaction. You followed me into the jaw of this trap. Knowing that, it was enough.

Trowa stood there.

The man in the passenger seat of the car raised his gun. Trowa smiled.

When the gun went off, he was already in the air; but he felt it, still, the whizz of the bullet past his face; the sting of its heat. But it was such a little thing, and he was flying, scissoring through the air to land on the hood of the men's car. The metal bounced and flexed beneath him.

The one in the driver's seat was practically climbing over himself in his haste to open the door and flee. But the bank of the ditch was pressing him in, preventing his door from opening fully. The man in the passenger seat, the one with the gun, was staring up at him with hate in his eyes. He mouthed the words Trowa knew had been in his mind from the start: _Gundam pilot_.

Trowa took a step, centered himself in front of the bullet hole the man had shot through the windshield. What must he look like, from down there in that seat? _Pilot 03_. He couldn't help the sneer that twitched across his face. "You should get out," he suggested to the man down there, as if it were only the two of them in all the world. It never hurt to be polite. The man didn't move.

Trowa picked up his foot and brought it down over the hole in the glass. It crunched and fractured further, splintering his view of the men inside. One or both of them inside could have let off another round and he wouldn't have ever known before it hit. He brought his foot down again. Again.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Noin's voice, taut with rage, caught his attention.

"They can't get out through the doors," he told her, as if that were all the explanation needed.

"Just stop it," she said with disgust. "Go sit down and let me handle this."

He wanted to protest, but the way Noin said it cut through to something deep inside of him. He found himself doing as she ordered, for reasons he could not quite put into words, even to himself.

Two other patrol cars pulled up, their officers spilling out to assist. Like ants to a picnic, he thought nonsensically, grasping for something, anything, to ground himself. His mind flashed back to bitter Antarctic winds. Things had been different back then. Hadn't they? Suddenly, he was not so sure. He leaned against the unmarked Preventer car, head rushing, confused, suddenly tired. He felt something on his face, realized only then that he was bleeding. He pinched the edges of the wound closed and cast vaguely about for the first aid kit. There would be one somewhere, but it wasn't immediately visible and in truth he couldn't be bothered to locate it.

Noin had the men disarmed and climbing out through the unbroken driver- and passenger-side windows, into the arms of the waiting officers. They seemed meek and pathetic at this distance. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. What _had_ he been thinking? It already seemed distant as a dream.

When he opened his eyes a moment later, the pair of perps were being loaded into the two squad cars. Everything seemed to be winding down. Under control. Noin was sending him a very pointed glare. Trowa let out his breath. He knew he should be doing something, anything, to make himself useful somehow or other. But he couldn't bring himself to care, too frustrated, too resentful to want to try. He watched Noin confer with the other officers on the scene, watched as they scurried back and forth, fulfilling all their little duties. Which protocol were they on to now? He amused himself by trying to list them in his head.

One of the squad cars drove off. Things really were winding down.

Noin began to make her way back over to him. He steeled himself for it. "You want to tell me what that was all about?" she asked when she stood in front of him. He found he couldn't quite meet her eye, and glanced down at the ground instead. She sucked in a sharp breath, her face twisting in dismay. "Oh, Trowa. Your face…"

His waved aside her concern. "It's nothing."

Noin tutted anyway, and in short order produced the elusive first aid kit from the car boot. "Look, I volunteered us to stick around here and wait for the tow truck, but you're probably going to need to make a statement to law enforcement later on."

His stomach sank. "No chance we could remand those guys into Preventer custody?"

"Only if we establish some kind of reason to." She gave him a look, one eyebrow arched. "You got one?"

He slouched backwards against the car, arms coming up to cross over his chest in a defensive, stubborn gesture. Noin gave a little eye roll that served perfectly to dismiss him. "They know I'm a Gundam pilot," Trowa muttered, hating the need he expressed by saying that. He looked past Noin, to the last pair of officers chatting beside their squad car. He could still see the dawning realization cross her face. "That's why."

"I'll call Une." Noin's response was immediate, decisive; the words exactly the ones he wanted to hear, but there was a twist in her voice which he found unsettling. "She can take care of it." She handed the first aid kit off to him and turned away, fishing her phone from her pocket, only turning back to him briefly to toss him the car keys. "And move this thing off the road, would you? There's no reason for us to keep blocking traffic."

He nodded. Not that there was any traffic for them to block. Although he could hear the sounds of the highway nearby, no other cars had disturbed them since they'd taken this exit.

It was the work of only a moment to reverse and reposition the car so it was parked less obtrusively along the grassy verge. From there, Trowa watched in quiet appreciation for a minute as Noin worked to put the situation to rest on his behalf. The call appeared to take some time, Noin pacing as she spoke, an occasional gesture punctuating the air. When she strode over to confer with the other officers, phone still in hand, he returned his attention to the first aid kit and bent awkwardly down to the sideview mirror of the car to examine the wound on his face.

After a few minutes more, Noin returned to him, said quietly, "Let me do that."

He gave her a rueful smile from where he squatted on the ground. "You've done me enough favors for today. I've got it."

"Don't be foolish." She nudged him to his feet then maneuvered him until he was sitting sideways in the back seat of the car and she could get in close enough to examine his face. Over her shoulder, he could see they were alone, the officers gone. He hadn't noticed their departure. Noin said to him, "You should have told me what was going on as soon as you got off the plane."

"I know."

"Do you?" She sounded even angrier. "Civilians were put in danger today. We can't have that from Preventers."

The rebuke rankled, although he knew it was deserved. "It won't happen again."

"Good." Her tone turned sympathetic. "There's glass in here."

Noin leaned in close, and Trowa held himself still while she extracted the shard from his cheek. Removing it stung, and caused the cut to begin to bleed again; he could feel the wet trickle down his face. Noin's touch was soothing as she daubed away the blood, applied pressure and antiseptic, then finally a film of medical sealant. The whole time, he could feel her breath, warm, against his neck, stirring the tiny hairs there.

Christ. He was getting turned on. Had it really been so long that even this small intimacy was enough to wake something inside him? He focused on the rhythm of his own breathing, tried to consciously disconnect from the feelings of Noin's fingers against his skin, the closeness of her body to his. "It might scar," she said at length, calmly professional.

"Guess I'll have a matching set, then," he forced himself to answer in kind. At her questioning look, he tilted his head to display his other cheek, the thin scar that ran along it just under his temple; a remnant of his first performance with the circus. _I'm not paid to dodge_. He couldn't go around making claims like that anymore. Noin gave him that look she had, like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Like… Like she cared. Her lips pursed slightly, and her fingers traced the line of the wound one last time, then she pulled back, made to stand.

Without thinking, he raised his hand to stop her, grabbed her by the wrist. Startled, she looked back at him; he instantly loosened his grip, but made no apology.

Noin's wrist was tiny in his hand. He knew exactly how to snap it, if that were his objective. He would be able to imagine exactly the sound her bones would make as they cracked, if he tried. Instead, he felt the velvet softness of her skin; the jump of her pulse against his finger pads. He continued to meet her eye, uncertain, but unmoving. He couldn't interpret what was in her face.

Noin's gaze left his, traveled from his face down to where his hand wrapped around her wrist, and back again. A long minute passed.

Then she kissed him.

The shock of it momentarily overrode all else. This was what his body had been craving, but he had not expected to receive it.

But Noin displayed no indecision. The press of her lips didn't require words to tell him what she wanted; her mouth was persuasive enough on its own. Heat ignited in his gut, radiated out through his limbs. Instinct guided him as he reached for her, clutching, his hands finding first her arms, then moving upwards: her shoulder, her neck, her hair. He drew her closer. Noin put up no resistance, pliant against him. He felt her hands tangle in his hair, the drag of her nails over his scalp. She made a sound against him, a tiny indrawn sigh of want, an onwards spur.

Strangely, that was what brought him out of it. He broke the kiss, pulled back just far enough to give her a considering look. "What about Zechs?" he wanted to know.

Noin's eyes were heated, unabashed. "I don't want to think about Zechs right now," she told him. Her voice was husky, but still with a familiar undernote. Entirely sincere. "Please, Trowa."

Put like that, how could he refuse?

It was none of his business, then.

Suited him fine. If it meant that he got to do this…

He let his hands track down the curve of Noin's spine, from the base of her skull all the way to the flare of her hips. Had she always been shaped like this? Had he really never noticed until now? He pulled her down to him, a sharp tug that had them tumbling into the back seat of the car.

Where there was Noin, on top of him, pressed against him. The swell of her breasts, the sharp weight of her hips. The insistent crush of her mouth against his.

The pleasantness was surreal, steeped in strangeness. This was an unimagined intimacy. At fifteen years old, he had not cared to look beyond Noin's OZ uniform; even after she discarded it, aboard Peacemillion, during the tension of the final battle, she had seemed sexless, her affections too distant to spark his fantasies. But she was here, now. Warm, and close, and willing.

There was a heady rush creeping through his veins that was as intoxicating as alcohol and as bad for common sense. He was all too aware of their limited time, of the tow truck on its way. But the kiss was deep and urgent and demanded his attention. It was as much as he could do to maintain the presence of mind, as they maneuvered through the tangle of their limbs, to pull the car door shut behind them. With the click of the latch, the sound of the outdoors became suddenly muffled and far away. He could put it off for a while longer yet.

Trowa got his knees beneath him, taking care not to knock his head against the ceiling of the car. Noin lay stretched out on her back in front of him, legs splayed enticingly. All the fantasies Trowa had never thought to have now crowded into his mind at once, making his fingers tremble and his cock strain.

He reached to undo her fly. Her eyes urged him on; she shifted slightly, lifting her hips to help him slide the fabric down her body. His fingers touched skin, exposed flesh. He had to bite his lip at the sight of it. Fuck. When was the last time he'd had a woman beneath him? Too long. Too long. He bent to kiss Noin's newly exposed cunt.

She hissed, and suddenly her knees were closed to him, her hand reaching between them to push his face away. "Not that," she told him, breathless. He peered up at her. Had she changed her mind so quickly? But the hand on his face moved to cup his neck, pulled him upwards. "Just fuck me," she whispered in his ear before biting down on the lobe. The words, as much as the sharpness of her teeth or the wet heat of her tongue, sent a jolt straight to his groin.

He shrugged and obliged her.

It was too cramped tucked into the back seat of the car; his far leg slipped off the seat and he had to scrabble for purchase to catch himself before he cracked his knee against the hump in the floor. There was no room to undress, everything becoming a frustrating, ungainly shimmy. But all the petty irritations vanished from his mind with that first thrust, melting into Noin.

It was strangely tender. The way she held his face between her hands, looked up at him. The way she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him close. The way she said his name: _"Trowa."_ It wasn't what he expected. This acknowledgment. This openness. That Noin should be here, with _him_. He couldn't help but treat it the same way. Like something precious. It was, he realized. This wasn't like his other times. It should be; it should be just like any other ill-timed fumble towards release, and yet…

His fingers groped upwards, underneath Noin's shirt and she arched under his touch, no hint of hesitancy or shame. He found her breasts. Her bra was lace, and that was unexpected, too, feminine where he'd expected only practicality.

It felt too good. All of it. He came before he meant to, and afterwards he felt embarrassed, unsure if Noin had gotten off or not. Probably not, he reflected. But she didn't seem displeased, stroking a hand up and down his back. He let himself enjoy it, the sudden release from the tension he had been carrying, the way his mind had finally emptied itself, and found his eyes drifting closed. Until Noin went stiff beneath him, suddenly fighting to sit up. "Is that-"

"The tow truck," he realized, hearing the same thing she did, and raised himself up enough to sneak a glance through the rear window. "Yes. I'll go."

The offer was born half of the chivalrous, protective urge that came of sleeping with a woman, and half of pragmatism. It was the work of only half a moment to tuck himself back into his trousers and duck out of the car. And it was, besides, the least he could do after Noin had overseen handling both the perps and the police while he'd sat useless.

He flagged down the approaching truck and jogged across the street to the ditch where the empty car waited. The driver was giving him a funny, suspicious sort of look when he pulled up, but Trowa didn't think he had seen anything inappropriate. He realized, when the driver asked him, "You with Preventers?" that it was because he wasn't in uniform and tried to strike a more professional stance.

"That's right. You know where you're taking this?"

The driver just rolled his eyes and got to work. After a few minutes, Noin emerged from their car, looking only somewhat mussed. She hung back a while to watch him oversee things, but he still had to call her over in the end to sign off on the paperwork. In addition to his lack of uniform, he still had yet to be issued with Preventers ID.

"What now?" Trowa asked her as they watched the tow truck and its cargo rumble off. He couldn't quite keep the wariness out of his voice.

Noin didn't answer immediately, just stood companionably beside him. It was…nice. Comfortable. He was on the verge of reaching out to take her hand when she turned and offered a reassuring smile. "Now we head to HQ."

Immediately, he twitched his hand back into a fist, tucked it away inside his pocket.

So that was that, then.

The disappointment that came with the thought took him by surprise. When Noin began to walk back over to their car, he followed, and told her, "I didn't just mean about the job."

He saw her swallow, the muscles of her throat moving beneath her skin. "Let's talk about it on the drive," she offered. But she didn't immediately start the engine after settling herself back behind the wheel. She sat for a minute, her hands limp in her lap, before looking over at him and asking, "Do you really want to be here, Trowa? At Preventers?"

The question was not entirely unexpected. He answered stonily, "I've made up my mind."

"Why, then? What made you decide to leave the circus?"

He didn't think that question was very fair. He'd already stuck his neck out by asking where they stood and she'd as good as refused to tell him. Now she wanted him to bare the rest of his soul to her? She was staring again, but he didn't feel like meeting her eye this time. He scowled out at nothing instead. "Does your answer to my previous question depend on what I have to say or something?"

He sounded exactly like a petulant kid and he hated himself for it, but he'd landed a blow; he heard the sharp hiss of Noin's indrawn breath. "No," she said after a minute, sounding hurt. "That's not…"

When she trailed off, he expected her to start the car and drive off. Instead, he found her hand coming to rest on top of his, her fingers curling gently around his own. "That's not what I meant. I'm sorry, Trowa."

He didn't want to forgive her, was even irritated by the fact of her apology. So he pressed further. Felt out the boundaries of what he could get away with. "What's going on with you and Une? It's obviously something."

She let out a heavy sigh. "Commander Une and I… aren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye at the moment. It's a long story."

"Most of the good ones are," he observed, provoking a laugh.

"I don't know what to tell you, about us, Trowa," Noin admitted, and _there_ was all that hesitation that had been lacking earlier. "I probably shouldn't have let that happen."

"You wanted it, though."

She still had not let go of his hand, and now her fingers tightened in acknowledgment. "Yes. I did."

"So there's no problem, then."

She seemed uncertain what to say. He, after all, was the one who'd seemed inclined to make a problem. He decided, then, to come clean. He wouldn't have, but for what they had shared not so long ago, and maybe neither of them were going to say it, but it _had_ been special. Maybe it was his own way of apologizing. Besides, he reckoned Noin would be able to guess at it anyway. He removed his hand from her grip, and she withdrew back to her side of the car. "Those guys we arrested today, they weren't the first to find me after my identity as a Gundam pilot got out. That's why I finally joined up with Preventers. My staying there was just putting a target on the backs of everyone at the circus."

Noin nodded. As he'd thought, she didn't seem surprised. She confided, "We didn't want to leave Mars, either."

"Yeah? So why did you?"

She let out the same humorless laugh she had when he'd first mentioned the red planet. "They kicked us out. Zechs's identity was leaked, too, you know. It would have been about the same time as when the names of you pilots came out. Once it became known that Milliardo Peacecraft was hiding out on Mars, the Project couldn't very well allow him to stay. Knowingly harboring the man who tried to drop Libra onto Earth? It could start another war! How lucky for us that Une was ready with a deal before we even managed to get planetside."

"An employment contract."

"Yes, she was very eager for us to know just how hard she had worked on Zechs's behalf. He could return to work for her without delay, where Preventers could maintain the appropriate supervision, and the government would decline to seek a prosecution against him. Very convenient for all concerned, you would think."

The irony in her voice wasn't lost on Trowa. He waited her out. She had her hands on the steering wheel now, still not going anywhere, but gripping it hard.

"I told her to go to hell." She grinned at him and they shared a laugh.

"You're still here, though," Trowa observed.

"Two for the price of one," Noin agreed vaguely, staring off out the window. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "She didn't even want _me_. Do you know what she said to me? She told me how my career had peaked while I was still a cadet. How Zechs was the one of us who had the soul of a soldier. I helped her _build_ Preventers!" In her fury, the knuckles of her fists were pinched white. She released the wheel only to vent her frustration by slamming the palm of her hand back against it.

"I don't understand; why wouldn't she want you?"

"I don't know. No, I _do_ know. Who do you think leaked all that information, Trowa?" He shrugged, cautiously. "It was Une."

For a second, the car seemed to drain of air. It made sense, though; enough that Trowa couldn't even pretend this feeling coursing through him was surprise. It seemed a part of him had already known, had known when he'd agreed to come here. But the sting of betrayal was still sharp. He swallowed around the metallic taste in his mouth to ask, "You have proof?"

"No. Nothing concrete. But she didn't even feel the need to deny it when I accused her. She's overconfident."

For the second time that day, Trowa found himself asking, and with the same trepidation that he had the first time around, "What about Zechs?"

Noin sagged back in her seat. She mumbled, "He…hasn't been well, since we got back. He's… It's as if he's retreated inside himself. Somewhere I can't reach. I don't know what to do. I can't leave him when he's like this." Trowa refrained from pointing out he hadn't asked her to. "He needs me. But this has been hard for me, too." After a pause, she added, "Sorry. I don't need to burden _you_ with all that."

Trowa shrugged off the apology. There was a complicated knot in his chest that he was reluctant to examine too closely. At least not here; not now. With studied nonchalance he clarified, "Does he know about Une?"

A faint blush lit Noin's cheeks. For the first time all afternoon she appeared, not just uncertain, but flustered. Avoiding his eye, she retreated into professionalism, pulling herself upright in her seat and looking straight ahead as she answered. "He was in the room when I confronted her. But it's not something he wishes to discuss. I don't think he feels it makes much difference. However it got out, it doesn't change the deal he was given. He's resigned himself. He doesn't see any other choice."

Trowa was inclined to agree, and said as much.

"That doesn't mean taking things lying down!" Noin snapped, her momentary awkwardness gone as quickly as it had come.

Trowa could see why she'd earned her codename. 'Fire' was right, the heat in her eyes and in her voice flaring without warning. He was reminded, unexpectedly, of Heero's first piece of advice to him during the war, that there was nothing wrong with following one's emotions. He himself had always striven to remain so cold, before that. He had remained cold after, too, though with less purpose; it had plagued him as a physical sensation during his amnesia. But there was something about Noin that warmed him, right to his very bones.

He wanted to fuck her again. He wanted to be able to do it right. Not just some hurried fumbling in the back seat of a car. He wanted to learn her body. He wanted to know every little thing it would take to break her down and then to build her back up. All those fantasies were still crowding his head, and the thought of never being able to act on any of them was nearly unbearable.

Nearly.

He didn't; he wouldn't; but his fingers itched with the urge to reach out and touch her again. _No_. Hadn't she told him, just minutes ago, that she had no plans to leave Zechs? And these things she was telling him about Une. There would be consequences. Not just for himself, but for all of Preventers.

Something else occurred to him. _The soul of a soldier_ , Noin had said. "Preventers aren't supposed to be soldiers."

"I know," she replied. She looked at him, and her gaze positively burned. " _That's_ why I came back."

"What are you saying?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

She visibly hesitated over saying more. He could see her eyes tracing him, lingering. Trowa was used to being weighed in this way, of having his trustworthiness questioned. He should not resent Noin's lack of confidence; he was asking her to confess to something dangerous. And yet he did resent it.

"I'm not asking so I can betray you," he said more sharply than he'd intended.

"That's not it," she answered quickly. What, then? Did she still think of him as some young kid? "What would you do?" she asked. "In my position?"

He considered it, remembering the last time he'd worked for Une. That had been another episode of his life tinged with the surreal.

Walking that tightrope, of Gundam pilot, of OZ ensign, it hadn't been unpleasant. There had been an understanding, of a sort, between him and his superior; a truce. She did not press him too closely about his past, and he got remarkably free rein to pilot. Une had not been bothered by his lack of loyalty to OZ; if anything, he rather thought that made her respect him more. Their relationship had been more subtle yet more straightforward than the rest of her command. He was not bound to her by the same ties as the rest of her subordinates. Over them, she'd had to rule by fear, by lust, by love. Emotions too complicated to consistently predict. With him, there was simply expedience. Until there wasn't, anymore. There had been respect between them, unexpected, but there had not been trust.

Would she expect things to be different between them now? Assuming there was truth to what Noin told him. And there was; he was certain of that.

"I've been in your position," he told her. "It looks like I am again."

"And?" she pressed him.

He shrugged. "I waited. In the end, it came to nothing, but times went on regardless." He had jumped in front of the beam meant for Heero. And Une had been shot by Tsuberov. His vague plans to bring down OZ from within had come to nothing. Had been, in the end, unnecessary.

Noin cocked her head to one side as she looked him down. "You're different," she observed. "Do you remember when we met? How concerned you were with protecting Heero? And don't think I've forgotten the things you said to me, about fighting pointless battles."

He leaned back against the headrest.

"This isn't pointless, Trowa. Une… She isn't fit. She isn't fit to lead Preventers. Not in peacetime. Not if she's going to do it like this."

"So what are you going to do about it?" he challenged her.

Noin smiled. A hard smile. "I'm going to see to it that she's removed," she said calmly. "It seems only fitting that the same ESUN government that she held over our heads should be the thing to undo her. She's not the only one who knows how to whisper in the ears of politicians."

He wasn't sure what it was about that he found so amusing, but it brought a smirk to his face. "I wouldn't have thought backstabbing was your style."

Noin, the mobile suit pilot. It was hard to imagine this woman, with her delicate fingers, the arms he could wrap his fist around, being behind such destructive power. But then, he had done it as a fifteen-year-old boy. Not so very different. It was easy to forget how young he had been, now he was a man.

"Ha! Is that what I'm doing? I suppose it is…" She trailed off in thought, until there was only the sound of her anxiously drumming fingers against the steering wheel. Then, abruptly, she turned her attention back to him to ask, "And how does it sit you with, Trowa?"

He considered it. And against his better judgment, he reached for her. There was a moment of - something - panic? fear? - across her face, but then she shut her eyes and leaned into it, into him.

"I'm in," he decided, "if you're looking for an ally."

He felt the rise and fall of her breath. And then…

"An ally," said Noin, "sounds good."


End file.
